


Suspicion

by russianwinter013



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Crime, F/M, Heavy gore, Horror, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Sadism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Cybertron is restored, many have returned, whether Autobot or Decepticon. There is no declared leader and riots and violence take place. Hundreds of Autobot law enforcements are founded. Jazz is one of these Enforcers and is none too happy when he is paired with the strange Praxian detective Prowl. Will chaos continue to rule a revived world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Smokescreen is majorly out of character. I wanted to change him a lot for this story, and I did. I honestly do not care if you flame me for doing so, but this is my story, so I'll do what I want with it.

He had been in every office except one.

There were rumors about its owner, and one doubting his sanity was commonly spoken throughout the station.

_/Jazz./_ A gravelly voice sounded over his comm. _/You are needed in the meeting room./_

"Already on mah way," he replied.

/ _Quit stalling and get your chassis in here. Smokescreen is just about ready to blow a massive fuse./_

"Alright, don't bite mah head off." Jazz disabled the link, arriving at the meeting room. The door flew open before he could ask permission to enter. A tall, dark blue mech filled the doorway. Glaring down with two narrowed, blazing white optics, he spoke in a deep, rumbling voice.

"You are late." The mech spoke with a thick accent, his voice deep and cold.

"Calm yourself, Smokescreen. Ah showed, didn't Ah?"

"Barely." Smokescreen moved aside to let him in, where he was met with glares.

"Why did we recruit him?" A femme, one by the name of Redstar, growled. Her optics blazed as she glared at him. "He's the reason we're always staying after late."

Jazz waved off the femme's comment with clawed, nonchalant servo. "Cool ya jets, 'Star. Why did ya call meh here?"

Redstar's mouthplates curved into a scowl. "I didn't. He did." She motioned to an extremely tall mech at the head of the table, whose faceplate was enveloped in shadow as he watched them. 

"Who's he?"

Smokescreen nudged him, a low growl rumbling deep in his chassis. "Show some respect. You are addressing the head of the entire police faction."

Realization hit Jazz like a magnetic pulse and he bowed mockingly, a sly smirk gracing his mouthplates. "The great Whiplash. Ah've heard of ya."

"I have heard much about you, Jazz of Polyhex." Whiplash's voice was extremely deep, a rumbling thunder not all that different from Optimus'. "You may rise." 

"To what do Ah owe the honor?" Jazz rose, his visor flashing as he crossed his servos over his chest.

"I have come to speak with all of you," Whiplash rumbled, rising from his seat. "You may be seated."

They were all quick to obey his command, as if he would revoke it at any given moment. Jazz let out a huff of a laugh as he sat, leaning back in his chair and propping his pedes up against the table. Beside him, Smokescreen snarled dangerously and with a swipe of his servo knocked the Polyhexian off of the table. Jazz snarled and snapped at the mech, but with a dark glare from Whiplash all antics ceased.

The large, darkly-colored mech stood, optics fixed onto a datapad in his servos. It was quiet before he spoke once more. "What do you know of our consulting detective force?"

"Nothing, sir," Redstar replied in a tone that was unusually calm. "We don't possess such a division."

"Your assumptions are inaccurate." Whiplash projected an image onto the wall before him. It was of a Cybertronian corpse, a mech with neon paint splattered over his graying frame.

"What do you recognize about this body?"

"That is being the Enervator clan murder." A slim, handsome mech with scorching golden optics and spiked wings spoke up, leaning forward to be seen around the bulk of Smokescreen's chassis. "It occurred a day or so after the revitalization of Primus. The slayer was a Decepticon being by the name of Nightwing."

Whiplash nodded sharply, optics flashing. "That is correct, Jetfire. Who was on this case?"

"No one but a few rookie glitch-heads looking for a promotion," Redwing muttered, flicking her wings in irritation. 

"As usual, you are incorrect," Whiplash rumbled, making the femme glance away in embarrassment. "There was one high-ranked mech who was working on this. His designation is Prowl."

"I've heard of him. There are rumors that he is being who devours Autobots for breakfast," Jetstorm, Jetfire's twin, spoke with a voice shaking with fright and interest. Redstar gave him a scathing look and he lowered his gaze almost submissively before murmuring something to his brother.

Whiplash did not seem to care for the twins' murmurings. "I can assure you that these rumors are inaccurate as well. They are rumors for Prowl's unusual methods, as other call them."

"If ya don't mind mah asking," Jazz interjected, optics narrowed and engine revving suddenly, "What does this have ta do wit' any o' us?" He ignored Smokescreen's rumbling growl, keeping his gaze level on Whiplash. 

The Chief of Enforcers kept his gaze steady on the Polyhexian. "Prowl is in need of a new partner. His former left under unannounced circumstances."

"Is that why Windcharger was so annoyed?" Jetstorm blurted out, his blue gaze wide. "He was looking ready to being blow the roof off." 

"That is of no concern at the moment," Whiplash said. He moved his gaze slowly around the room, his dark optics piercing their very sparks. "You will decide who takes Windcharger's place. Inform me when you have completed it."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison, watching him leave. 

"I do not mean the being of rude," Jetstorm said, his speech abandoning its formality and slipping into its strange accent, "But who will is doing the task of assisting the 'bot eater?" 

"He is not the eater of 'bots," Jetfire said, his golden optics narrowing. "He is being the term...um, misunderstood?"

"Well, you guys can continue on," Redstar stated, rising from her seat with a determined and haughty huff. "I am not going anywhere near that psycho."

Smokescreen snarled, optics burning bright as he gave a dark imitation of a grin. "You can hope for no promotion."

"I don't care about promotions," Redstar snapped, looking slightly unnerved at the navy mech's expression. "I care about having a complete psychopath working on our cases and acting like a know-it-all glitch-head."

"Ah've heard of 'im," Jazz drawled, tilting his helm as he stared at the femme. "He's got a loopy reputation. Seems 'bout as crazy as they come when Ah hear others talkin'."

"And I wonder why," Redstar snarled. "Solving cases won't be enough for him- one day he'll cross the line and become a killer himself." She turned and left, her irritation leaving a burning haze in the room.

"I will be glad when someone snaps for her temper," Smokescreen stated boldly, his optics blazing white.

"Ya know what, Smokescreen, how 'bout you shut your damn mouth," Jazz snarled, visor blazing bright in a sudden display of anger. "If everyone's too much of an idiot—"

"-we are not malfunctions!" Jetfire snarled, wings flaring to dangerous points.

"Ah honestly could care less 'bout ya opinion," Jazz continued, his visor flashing dangerously as Jetstorm began to object. "If no one will take the job, Ah will."

He was met with silence and shocked stares.

"You truly are as crazy as they say," Smokescreen said, rising from his seat with a groan as joints and hydraulic lines snapped back into place.

"I disagree with that," Jazz stated, crossing his servos.

The former Team Prime member narrowed his optics. "And why is that?"

"With everything everyone's sayin' about this Prowl, he seems crazier than meh—and that's sayin' somethin'."


	2. Chapter 2

 

Jazz onlined to an incessant beeping in his auditory receptor. Growling, he switched it on.

"Yes?"

_/You are needed./_ The voice was unrecognizable, filled with static.

He stood, rolling his neck as cables popped back into place. "Who is this?"

_/You must be dumber than the stories say./_

Jazz froze, his visor darkening a shade as a low growl rumbled through his chassis. "Who is this?"

_/Figure it out./_ The line disconnected.

He stood in his darkened room, glaring at a spot on the wall through his visor. When he found out who did this, they'd better hope they make it out alive. Everyone knew of his immense dislike for anyone who disturbed his recharge.

Entering an open command into the door, he entered the hallway. No one else was on this floor, except for a few elderly 'bots that were veterans and some Neutrals that worked in the document areas. They did not seem to care who lived on the same floor as long as they didn't cause trouble, which was fine for him. Right now, he was focused on murdering the Twins.

Turning on his comm, he dialed Jetfire's line.

  
_/What?/_ The flier's voice was filled with static from sleep.

"Which one of ya glitch-heads decided ta call meh?"

_/What are you being talking about?_  

"Don't play stupid with meh, Jetfire."

_/Who being the right mind would do the being of calling you now?/_

"Obviously ya. Open the door."

_/What?/_

Jazz growled, and at the noise, the door he was standing in front of shot open. Jetfire stood there, orange-gold optics glowing in the dim light. He was rather annoyed; the height of his wings justified this as he loomed above the Polyhexian.

"You are being the irritation, disturbing me from the recharge," the former Autobot hissed. 

"Don' care," Jazz drawled. "Where's ya brother?" 

"How is being the business of you?"

"Ah need ta talk ta both of ya." Jazz's visor flashed white.

"We can be doing the talking later—"

"Brother, quit the being of malfunction." Jetstorm appeared noiselessly, his wings low and pedes dragging as if they weighed him down. He had clearly just onlined; his visor was a shade of blue so dark it was nearly black.

He faced Jazz, who was waiting impatiently. "What is it that you desire the being talking about?" 

"Ask ya brother."

"No, brother, do not ask me," Jetfire said, his wings rising as his brother began to object. "I am not being in the mood."

Jetstorm faced Jazz. His wings twitched; a cool wind blew as a cause of sleepy irritation. "You have made my brother the insulted and angry. Explain. Quickly." 

Jazz realized that he had crossed a line, no matter how small. The twins were fiercely protective of each other, and causing irritation in either of them could and sometimes did rise to the point of dangerous things happening. Judging by the cold indifference and the fiery rage rolling off of the two, he realized it was not them who had woken him.

How irritating that his manner of judgment should be tested so.

"Brother, he is not going to be doing the explaining," Jetstorm said. He did not move as Jetfire disappeared. He kept his gaze on the visored Polyhexian.

"Our talk is not the being of over," he hissed, closing the door with a gust of wind.

Jazz revved quietly. His work here would be impaired, now that he had insulted and aggravated two of the most powerful Autobot warriors here. He could just laugh it off, but their pranks could become frighteningly vicious. Now he'd have to watch his back.

Great.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Whiplash sat in his office. He was noiseless, as he was reorganizing the information in the criminal files section of his processor. The Chief of Enforcer's tasks took up most of his time, and movement of the physical status was restricted whether it was inside or outside of the now-darkened office. 

_Accessing criminal sector. Objective: Sort, store, delete._  

_File 00014601. Designation: Surablack Case, occurrence: three millennia from previous orn._  

_Error. Computing process restricted by mass document clutter. Save or delete?_

"Sir?"

He opened his optics. Xerxea, one of the former warriors with unpredictable, sporadic seizures, stood in the doorway. Her tall, slender frame was enveloped in shadow, but her purple optics glowed.

"Yes, Xerxea?"

She shifted from one pede to the other. "There is someone here to see you."

He did not recall a scheduled meeting. "Who might this be?" 

Xerxea's arm jerked, but she forced it down, her gaze narrowing. "Prowl."

He leaned back in his chair, processor scrambling to unearth a reason on why the master detective, tactician, and spy would want to speak with him. "Very well. Send him in, and then go acquire some recharge. Your condition will not stabilize with your working for hours on end."

Xerxea nodded and left. A few moments later, a tall black and gold Praxian with spiked, lethal looking doorwings appeared.

"It would be wise to schedule a meeting. You should not demand admission into my office while at the same time frightening my assistant in the process." 

"That would be wise." He crossed his hands behind his back, a vacant look clouding his gaze. "However, should I have scheduled, you would be fifteen point five seconds late, having just returned with a meeting from the Enforcers of Iacon." Prowl faced him. "Unpunctuality is not a trait I favor."

Whiplash tilted his helm, an amused smile crossing his faceplate. "You never fail to astound me, do you?" 

The Praxian stared at him, his cold optics analyzing with a scrutiny that made the normally fearless officer uneasy. "I astound many, but not myself. It is a manner of perspective in which I see things. The said astonished have primitive minds that simply cannot see straight to the fact."

Whiplash nodded, though he was unsure of whether or not the mech had meant to insult him.

"I understand that you have informed the staff that I require a new partner?" Prowl questioned.

The larger mech narrowed his optics, wondering what the mech was getting at. "Yes." 

A faint rumble came from the Praxian's engine as his wings flared wide. "Toleration of your announcement was not a given requirement?" 

"I do not command my officers to favor my every order."

"I did not say you did or have to." Once again, the Praxian was staring at him with a rather chilling amount of impassiveness, a stare that made the Chief think the Autobot was reading his very soul. After a moment of unsettling silence, Whiplash leaned back in his chair.

"What do you want, Prowl?" 

"What I want, I already have." He turned away, looking out of the window.

"I do not favor conundrums."

The detective began to speak, but he stopped, seeming to freeze in place. His wings twitched high on his back as if in distress.

"Prowl." Whiplash knew that the Praxian would freeze temporarily at times, but for what reason, he did not know. There was no way to predict it.

The Praxian did not respond, though Whiplash noticed his grip tighten on the windowsill. He continued to stare out of the window, his gaze narrowed. 

"Prowl." Whiplash repeated the designation, authority laced throughout his voice.

Whiplash stood and approached Prowl ,who continued to stare.

"Prowl, what—?"

The Praxian whipped around, making the Chief move back in surprise. 

"Give this information precisely: take only the bare essentials, no exceptions. Various Enforcer tactics will need to be shown; defectiveness will be uncovered should it be detected. Report to Sector 221B of Iacon Central." 

Whiplash shook his helm. "Prowl, what are you talking about?"

The Autobot faced him, his optics darkening a few shades. "Impaired, you are."

The Enforcer Chief narrowed his gaze. "I do not know what you mean."

Prowl sensed the dark stain of irritation, and he tilted his helm slightly, doorwings rising. "Use your processor, Whiplash."

He stepped into the hallway, dodging a crowd of trainees with a single move. Turning back to the Enforcer Chief, his gaze blazed somewhat menacingly in the dim lighting.

"What do you think I mean?"


	4. Chapter 4

His ventilations were deep. In and out. In and out. In. Out.

_Focus._

_Control your emotions. Do not let them overwhelm you. Control._

_In. Out._ _In. Out. In—_

A knock on his apartment door ripped Jazz from his quiet, fog-like reverie. Snarling in irritation, he stood and opened the door.

Smokescreen stood there, optics blazing as usual. His servos were crossed and his Phase Shifter and sword stood out in the dark. 

"What've ya come ta bother meh about now, Smokescreen?"

The former Guard narrowed his optics. "Whiplash wants to see you."

"So why are you here?"

"You require an escort." His optics glowed dangerously as Jazz's visor flashed, and the Praxian bared his dentia in a snarl. "His words, not mine."

"Ah can handle mahself."

Smokescreen turned and grinned sinisterly, the action sending chills down the Polyhexian's spinal struts. "Then why am I here?" 

_Actually, that's a good question._ "Fine, then." He stepped out into the hall next to the towering mech. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

"Enter."

The door opened. Xerxia entered with two mechs—one extremely tall with blazing white optics, and a smaller white mech with a crystal visor. 

"Sir." The tall mech spoke, a thick foreign accent clouding his speech. "I have brought Jazz."

Whiplash nodded, shuttering his optics. Xerxea urged them in, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. She, along with Smokescreen and Jazz, took their seats. After a moment of silence so thick it was as if the Sea of Rust's storms had solidified, the Chief spoke. 

"Do you know why I called you here?" The tilt of his helm showed he was addressing Jazz.

_Other than ta wake meh up for some useless scrap?_ "No, sir, Ah don't."

"It has been told that you volunteered to be our resident detective's assistant." 

"With all due respect, sir, could this not have waited until Ah was fully online?" Jazz felt Smokescreen's fiery gaze on him, but impassive he remained.

"No, it could not." Whiplash uncovered his gaze and stood. His presence seemed to fill the room.

"He wishes to see you. Now."

* * *

Jazz stood outside the black door, urging himself to get it over with. Whenever he raised his clenched fist, it lowered, and he chastised himself. Why couldn't he knock on a door, of all things?

_It's 'cause tha mech's a malfunctioned, stuck-up, glitch-headed psychopath._

"I highly disagree." 

He whipped around to see a mech with a piercing gaze that made Jazz feel as if he were examining him for faults and triumphs. The mech was mainly black, with gold accents. Large, elegant wings rose from his back, colored a deep black to match the rest of his chassis color. The gold lining on the edges reflected the dim lighting of the hall.

"Ah…what do ya disagree with?"

The mech clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his helm as if in curiosity. "Clearly, your error in judgment."

"Mah error in—?"

"You were chastising yourself for you inability to knock on the door currently in front of you, wondering why you could not do so. Your mind answered, 'He's a malfunctioned, stuck-up, glitch-headed psychopath." The mech's optics darkened slightly. "That is what I disagree with."

Jazz stared. Had he been watching? 

"How did ya—what Ah thought? How did ya get tha'?"

The mech's doorwings rose and fell in one sharp motion as if he were venting in irritation. "Quite simple, really. The grim set of your shoulders, the height of your helm—dropped as if in disgust. It is obvious."

_O…kay._ "Might Ah ask who ya are?"

The mech had his back to him. "I am the owner of this room." 

_Scrap._ "Do ya know who Ah am?" 

"You are Jazz, Enforcer for four and a half vorns. You have regular, nearly-daily disputes with your associates Redstar and Smokescreen. Smokescreen was a member of Optimus Prime's team; he is widely known for his secretive methods and cunning. Redstar has a fiery temper that no one appreciates. You would not be an Enforcer if you were able to get a job of higher pay; thought you admit you enjoy the thrill of a high-speed chase." Prowl whipped around, doorwings raised despite the impassive look on his faceplate. "Am I correct?"

Jazz shrugged. "Ah guess."

The Praxian stared at him unblinkingly, faceplate revealing nothing of the thoughts and calculations going through his processor. Jazz stared back, glaring just as intensely. After a moment, the Autobot turned away, entering an open command; it was encrypted, so even as Jazz attempted to crack the complex puzzle, its code was unknown. 

"What are you doing?" The Praxian's voice tore his from his thoughts.

Jazz snarled softly, not one for stating the obvious. "Ah'm standing, what does it look like?"

"You are in my computer's systems." His turned his helm ever so slightly, optics flashing. "Get out."

Jazz's visor blazed white. "How did ya know?" 

"It told me." His voice echoed as he entered his apartment. Jazz lingered, not sure if he wanted to be alone in a room with a psychopath. 

"Did I not tell you to stop calling me by that absurd designation?" 

"How did ya—?" 

"Enter." The command was given in a calm manner, though his urgency and irritation was felt. Jazz did as told, feeling small as the massive black doorway towered over him. 

"Sure do got a large apartment," Jazz observed as he stared.

"Irrational." The mech's disembodied voice came from somewhere in the apartment.

"How?" If this partnership would only result in the contradiction of everything the Polyhexian said, as well as do nothing but irritate him, he wanted no part.

"It is implausible to conclude that I am knowingly attempting to injure your emotional status while I am simply informing you on the truth." His voice was unnervingly close, making Jazz whip around to nothing but complete darkness.

"Well, ya are tryin' ta do somethin'," Jazz drawled, opening his scanners. Try as he might, the detective's life signal could not be found.

_Stupid piece of glitch-headed garbage_ , he thought vehemently.

"Will you cease chastising yourself? You are going to give me a processor ache."

Jazz felt a presence near him, but before he could turn, the lights flashed on. The detective was standing there, servos crossed and a severe look on his faceplate.

"How do ya always know what Ah'm thinkin'?"

"I have already told you." The Praxian stared at him intently, enough to cause the Polyhexian to shift from one pede to the other. The motion caused a clanking sound to come from his subspace. A thought stabbed Jazz's mind like a plasma-charged dagger.

"Where do ya want mah stuff?" Jazz said, placing a hand on his subspace as if the inquiry hadn't been evident.

The Praxian jerked as if attacked by a magnetic pulse. "Follow." He whipped past the Enforcer, heading into a hallway as silent as a phantom. 

Jazz lingered, visor shifting from blue to white as doubt placed its hold on him. Problems and solutions raced through his mind, things such as doubted sanity and tactics. He didn't realize he was frozen in place until a voice startled him. 

"Now!" 

He hurried after the detective, still wondering if he really was crazy for doing this.

* * *

"Sir?"

The mech at the desk turned.

"The bait had been laid."

_When?_

The messenger shifted from one pede to the other. "Two orns from now, at the Central Docks near the backwash plains."

The other nodded, making a sound of approval. _Leave._

The mech bowed and left.

A grin crossed his faceplate, revealing jagged dentia that could cut through metal.

_It has begun._


	5. Chapter 5

_CRASH._

Jazz onlined quickly, visor blazing white as his daggers slipped into his servos. Where was he? How did he get here? Who—?

_Calm down, ya glitch-headed hard-helm, he scolded himself. You're Prowl's new assistant._

But what was that noise? 

Scrambling to his pedes, he tore out of the room. "Detective!"

The room was pitch black. His scanners couldn't pick up any life signals. Where was the detective? He ran his hand over the wall, searching for a light switch and turning it on.

"What the—?"

Prowl sat in the middle of the room, legs crossed. He was motionless, his optics shuttered and helm slightly bowed, chin resting in palm. He seemed perfectly fine, aside from being utterly motionless.

_CRASH._

It came from the kitchen. He approached slowly, scanners and sensors on high. He could not sense a life force, so what was making that noise?

A low growl sounded, startling the Polyhexian. He realized it had come from the detective. Did he know something about the noise and didn't want Jazz to investigate? He ran a quick scan of the detective's vitals, and it showed that he was in deep recharge and wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

Curiosity won over fear. 

He kept his sensors open, despite the fact that he could find nothing. The noise had stopped, replaced by a loud thud as rumbling as the thunder experienced on Earth. He noticed the large cabinet rattle every so often and with a magnetic pulse he slowly pulled it open—and stared in shock. 

The head of a mech stared back at him. There was a gruesome gash on what remained of the neck, congealed Energon seeping into the floor of the shelf. The armor was decayed in patches, peeling off in places and flaking in others. It was lurching around as if it were still alive. It was a horrible, nauseating sight.

"Detective." He headed back into the living room. He was still in recharge.

"Detective." He hesitantly reached out a servo. "There's somethin' ya should see." 

The Praxian did not respond. 

Groaning in irritation, he shook the detective's servo. "Prowl!"

His optics snapped open, and in all one second, he was on his pedes—and Jazz was across the room.

"What in the world what tha' for?" the Polyhexian demanded, visor blazing white. 

The detective didn't answer. He was venting heavily, optics glowing dangerously bright. Jazz noticed the somewhat insane look in the other's gaze and caution overtook him as Prowl made his way over to him, who was currently upside down. Jazz could not help but notice that the long talons tipping the mech's digits looked poised to carve out his spark. 

The Praxian now stood over him, his gaze narrow and filled with fury. He leaned down and spoke in a quiet, calm voice stained with a hint a menace.

"What were you doing?" 

Jazz shifted so the world was right side up. "Ah was tryin' ta get ya attention."

"Why?" 

"The noise." He rubbed a servo over his faceplate, aware of a gash. "It woke meh up and Ah came ta investigate." He pointed to the kitchen. "There's a slaggin' helm in the fridge! A helm!" 

Prowl nodded. "I am aware of that." He straightened, holding out a servo to assist Jazz. He didn't, instead forcing himself up and watching as the Praxian sat down in the living room. 

"Tha's it?" 

The Praxian's doorwings twitched. "Explain your inquiry." 

"Ya wake up, throw meh the room, an' don't react at all when Ah tell ya there's a head in the fridge? How glitched-up are ya?"

At this, Prowl turned his helm slightly, enough for Jazz to see his optics. They were glowing again, filled with irritation despite the look of impassiveness on his faceplate. Jazz glanced back indignantly, wanting an answer.

The Praxian vented sharply, turning away. "You assume that I am 'glitched-up', as you put it, but I do not have an opinion for this judgment." 

"Are ya jus' sayin' tha' ta please yourself?"

His left doorwing twitched. "Explain."

"Don't play computer with meh, Prowl!" The Polyhexian snarled, banging a fist on the wall. He had heard about the Praxian's impassiveness, and how he more often than not referred to logic to dictate situations, but by the pit this was ridiculous. "What did ya do ta make everyone so scared 'bout ya? What happened?"

"I do not believe anything occurred to bring forth the trepidation of the staff."

Jazz's temper flared. "Don' make me ask again." 

"If you desire the need to ask again, then do so."

Magnetic waves rolled off of the Polyhexian. "Slag it, Prowl, stop stallin'!" Was he enjoying torturing Jazz like this?

"It would be appreciated if you did not destroy our home." The metal walls were warping and creaking, twisting in the visored Autobot's rage. 

"Don't tell meh what Ah can or can't do!" He paced the room, fury rolling off of him in waves. "If ya think that it isn't a big deal on why everyone's so scared 'round ya, why won't ya tell meh why?"

Prowl exhaled slowly, his doorwings rising. In one fluid motion, he was on his pedes. He walked past the other silently, no emotion coming from him, a cold wind trailing in his wake. 

"Where do ya think you're goin'?"

No response came.

Growling in frustration, he followed the detective, rage dimming to a dull roar. The hallway was dark, and since the detective could never be sensed, he hoped he was going in the right direction. He was still wary of what the detective might do should he find him in a restricted room.

"Are you going to linger all orn or must I force you?" 

Jazz scowled; the detective was in the room farthest from him. "It'd be a whole lot easier if Ah wasn't tryin' ta track a bot with no life signal!" At that moment, a signature appeared on his radar, and he followed it, all the while grumbling under his breath.

"Is this satisfactory?" The detective stood near the window, looking out of it. The light coming from the moon facing them was reflected off of the mech's black armor, bleaching it white.

 "What're ya showin' meh now? Another head, or is it an entire chassis?" 

"The head was a colleague of mine." The Praxian sounded distracted, his gaze fixed on whatever was outside.

"Ya sure ya didn't steal it?"

The detective's wings flicked. "What use would I have for a head?"

"Ya tell meh." He approached the window. "What are ya starin' at?"

Prowl moved aside slightly. "Do you see the two mechs?"

Jazz glanced at him in disbelief, but the detective only shook his helm. "If you are to be my assistant, you must be able to follow commands and answer questions. Do you see them?" 

He vented sharply. "Ah don't see the point of this." 

"Your answer."

Rolling his optics beneath his visor, he looked out of the window. At first, nothing could be seen, but once his optical sensors readjusted the silhouettes of two Cybertronians could be seen. One was taller than the other with large wings and glowing conduits, while the other had no outstretched appendages but tall bull-like horns. 

"Yes, Ah seem 'em. What about it?"

"They are unnerved about something. Look at the way the short one is moving, how he presents himself. The other is as still as if he were in stasis, obviously irritated with the other."

"So what's the deal and why are ya makin' meh watch?"

"They need help, but are hesitant to enter—"

"—because of ya rep." Jazz revved quietly, tilting his helm as he attempted to figure out why.

"Stop thinking." Prowl straightened, his doorwings flicking up. "You do so too much, you do realize?"

"What, so now ya can hear mah thoughts?" As if there wasn't enough strange things going on.

The detective didn't seem to hear the Polyhexian's jibe. "Go wait by the door."

"What for?"

No response came, but the Praxian's grip on the windowsill tighten visibly. Jazz decided to leave before the Autobot decided to throw him out of the window.

After a moment of annoyed waiting, he finally broke the silence.

"What's the point of makin' meh—?"

The doorbell rang.

"That is why." Prowl appeared near him in his strange, silent way. Jazz moved aside to let the Praxian enter the encrypted command, something he would continue to try and crack when the detective was not near enough for him sense it.

Prowl opened the door. The two mechs they had seen earlier stood there, the smaller one fidgeting nervously. Jazz noticed the detective's optics flickering slightly, as if he were about to offline at any moment. After a moment, they brightened, and the Praxian narrowed his gaze and spoke to the two.

"Yes?"

"You are Prowl, are you not?" the short one questioned in a slightly shaky voice. 

"I am." The Praxian clasped his hands behind his back. "Do you need something?"

The tall one spoke in another language, his voice deep and gravelly, as rumbling as thunder. 

"I have heard of it," Prowl replied, nodding. "How long ago was it?" 

He spoke again, and Prowl listened, nodding from time to time, motionless until the other finished speaking. 

The Praxian moved back, doorwings flicking the air. "Very well. You may enter."

As they did, Jazz intercepted the detective's path. "Hold on. What's going on?"

He faced him, optics flickering once more. "Do you not speak the language of Kaon?"

Jazz scowled. "No, Ah don', if it wasn't obvious. But neither of 'em look as if they come from Kaon. The one's winged an' most likely from Vos, an' the other's the same as Cliff."

"Obviously, the tall one was not born in Kaon, but was raised there, speaking their language. Most likely he was orphaned and raised by one in Kaon. The other, of the same sub-race as Cliffjumper, as you put it, is his companion."

"Ya got all tha' from the way he spoke?"

Prowl looked down at him. "You did not."

Jazz shook his helm, venting in exasperation. "No, Ah didn't. How did ya?"

"One learns to observe and read others quickly where I am from." The Praxian turned, ending their discussion, and faced the two, motioning to chairs surrounding a table. "You do not have to stand. My chairs will not bite." 

The two looked at each other, and in the end the horned one sat. Jazz looked questioningly to the tall one, who stared back and crossed his servos, conduits lining them like veins, as a grave and slightly irritated look appeared on his faceplate.

"Must you be locked in an eternal staring contest?" Prowl questioned, staring intensely at Jazz.

"Fine, no reason to get all snappy." The Polyhexian sat, visor switching from blue to white. 

Prowl leaned forward in his chair, chair resting in his palm. His gaze was narrow and cold as it pierced the two mechs. It only made the horned one even more nervous; he was shaking rather... violently.

It seemed that the Praxian stared for joors on end.

"Uh…Prowl?"

He did not respond. 

The tall Kaonite growled, although it may have been a statement. The shorter one fidgeted nervously. 

"Calm down, now," Jazz snapped, having had enough with the nervousness of the other. "Ya can wait, can't ya?"

"Actually, we can't," the short one retorted. "We have limited time here and cannot wait, for your information." 

"It ain't mah fault that he froze like this," Jazz growled, visor blazing a blinding white.

"You're his partner. Shouldn't you know of his erratic behaviors?" The small mech was growing ever more confident. Jazz could feel his engine rumble in annoyance. 

"What's tha' s'pposed to mean? Ah jus' got here." 

"He seems to run through partners rather quickly. You'll be gone before you know it."

Jazz snarled at this, rising from his seat. The Kaonite stepped forward, the dark light in his optics daring Jazz to do something.

_Oh, Ah'll do somethin' all right,_ he thought furiously, digits curling into claws as his dentia were bared in a feral snarl. 

"That is enough."

They whipped around to see Prowl on his pedes, glaring at them. His massive wings were flared wide, displaying the power they obviously held. 

Jazz barked out a laugh. "What's makes ya think Ah'll stop?"

Prowl fixed his stare on Jazz, and a strange feeling overwhelmed him. His body locked as if it were in stasis and his ventilations were cut short. Despite this, he could still see and hear normally.

The Praxian faced the Kaonite. "Remind me why you are here."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to get it out of the way, Prowl's appearance has changed slightly. He is all black (or obsidian, whatever you want to call it) and he has gold accents on his wings, servos, legs, and pedes. His optics change color, so it depends on what kind of mood he is in. Gold for the most part, but you'll find out what his other colors mean eventually.
> 
> Since we're on this topic, let's get the other characters out of the way.
> 
> Smokescreen: Extremely tall, deep navy blue armor, white optics.
> 
> Jazz: A bit bigger than what is categorized as mini bot. Silver-white armor and a crystalline visor.

_"Jazz."_

He groaned, shaking his helm. _Leave meh alone._

_"Jazz."_

 The voice was like a knife ramming through his mind, and he cringed, hands clenching into fists.

_"Wake up."_

He shook his helm. "No. Let meh… rest."

There was no answer, and then out of the blue a sharp rap hit him. He shot up, optics snapping open as his sensory network screamed at him temporarily.

Prowl stood over him, staring down. His wings were raised in a show of assumed irritation, and a look of cold indifference was on his faceplate. His servos were crossed and the light shining above him outlined his lean and powerful frame.

"What?" Jazz's voice came out filled with static, and he cleared his vocalizer.

"Did you honestly think I would let you rest when you are on duty?" the Praxian questioned, turning away sharply as he took a datapad from his subspace and scanned through its contents.

"Ya would if ya had this slaggin' processor ache," Jazz grumbled, sitting up with a wince. "Wha' happened?"

The larger mech turned his helm to look at the silver-white mech with a hint of indifference. "Two mechs by the name of Chrome and Xerxion visited, Chrome being a horned minibot and Xerxion a former assassin from Kaon. You started a fight with Xerxion."

Jazz groaned at the mech's bluntness and rolled his optics. "Ah know, but what happened after tha'? Ah couldn't move."

The Praxian tilted his helm, doorwings flicking the air. "Yes, you could not." He let out a huff, wings fluttering momentarily. "It is an ability I do not favor using. Very illogical in certain terms."

Jazz stared. "Wait, ya mean ya did tha'? How?"

It was silent for a moment before the winged mech rumbled, "Where do you think I am from?"

Jazz could not help but notice that Prowl had not answered the question, but he decided to play along. "What does tha' have ta do with anythin'?"

"You will understand, sooner or later, what my inquiry means." Prowl was now across the room, entering the open command. "Are you well enough for travel?"

"Ah ain't purgin', so yeah, Ah'm well. Why?" Jazz jumped to his pedes, visor brightening in his increasing agitation and excitement.

Prowl faced the Polyhexian, and Jazz could see the psychotic excitement blazing in the detective's gaze. A chill worked its way down the former saboteur's spinal struts at the rare and bizarre display of emotion, and it was then that Jazz could see some truth to the rumor of the Praxian's insanity.

The detective did not seem to notice or care of the Polyhexian's unease and spoke in an eerily calm voice. "We have our first case."

* * *

 "So, what's goin' on?"

Prowl vented heavily, the only display of emotion shown externally as he turned to fix an icy stare on the smaller mech. "Honestly, do you need refreshing every five kliks? Xerxion and Chrome's current hometown has been ravaged by a sadistic stream of robberies and murders. They recently witnessed a few and came to us to inform us on the current situation. They had to come unannounced, as the crime spree was run by a tyrant-like crime lord, one who had spies everywhere."

"So we're goin' to stop 'im?"

"Precisely." The Praxian turned without warning, making a couple yell in frustration as they were forced apart.

"Excuse us," Jazz apologized, rushing after the detective. "Tha' was rude, ya know?"

Prowl rumbled deeply, flicking his wings in an irritated ripple. "They were in my way. They did not want to move, so I did it for them."

The Polyhexian vented heavily, rolling his optics. "Ya're insufferable sometimes, ya know tha'?"

The Praxian remained impassive, merely flicking his wings. "So I have been told."

"So tell meh why we aren't drivin'?"

"It is not something I favor, and, in addition, it is rush hour." Prowl motioned to the roads, which were cluttered with vehicles honking at one another.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't ya?"

"If you say so." The Praxian froze suddenly, making Jazz stumble to a stop and swerve around him.

"Prowl, what're ya doin'? Ya can't just freeze like tha'!" When he didn't respond, Jazz's gaze narrowed. "Prowl?"

The Praxian's servo shot out, muffling the other's speech. His gaze was frighteningly cold—a warning sign of the emotionless composure that the mech was known for—and his wings were fanned out high and wide.

Jazz resettled his armor with a flare and slight rev of his engine, aware of the suddenly dark aura surrounding his partner. Taking the servo off of his mouth, he spoke in a soft voice. "Mind tellin' me what's goin' on?"

_Quiet._

The Polyhexian growled softly, optics narrowing beneath his visor. "Excuse meh—?"

_Silence!_ The Praxian was motionless, doorwings twitching as if they were nervous about something.

"Then how 'bout ya tell meh what in the Pits ya're doin' 'fore Ah decide not ta be an' make as much noise as Ah want." A cold, steely determination was audible in the mech's voice.

A deep rumble came from the large mech's engine as his wings flared minutely. _There is someone of high suspicion three point five klicks southeast of your position._

_Wha'?_ Jazz turned ever so slightly to glance out of the corner of his optic. The only thing that he saw was a mech loading crates into a non-sentient vehicle.

_All Ah see is a mech loadin' crates. No, wait._ Jazz narrowed his optics and enhanced his optical and olfactory sensors, picking up the faint scent of toxic Energon.

_He's shippin' illegal contraband._ The Polyhexian growled softly, engine rumbling.  _Wha' are we goin' ta do? We oughta be out there stoppin' 'im._

_We will have him under surveillance until we are sure that what we see currently is not an illusion._ Prowl shifted minutely, his wings flicking in the direction of the former saboteur.  _Tell me what else you see._

Jazz knew perfectly well that the mech could see and sense things perfectly fine, but he decided to play his game anyway.  _Our mech in question is loadin' tha crates of illegal contraband inta a seemingly non-sentient transport vehicle. Tha crates contain toxic Energon, which has been banded since before the start of the first Great War. An'..._ The Polyhexian narrowed his optics once more, electromagnetic field rippling.  _There's another mech with 'im._ He focused on the mech approaching the one loading the crates, fixed on the strange symbol that was engraved into the small of his secondary set of wings.  _It's Spectre, tha council mech in charge of maintainin' all the major Energon supplier companies._

Prowl said nothing in return, simply nodding and resettling his armor. 

_F_ _ollow._ The Praxian turned and Jazz followed the mech, who was heading out of the alleyway and into the dim light of the stellar cycle.

_Can we talk aloud now?_

A faint rumble came from the larger mech's engine as he vented inaudibly.  _Primus, that really is all you do._

_How could ya tell?_ With a slag-eating grin, the silver-white mech bounced on his pedes after the mech.

* * *

 "Uh...wha' exactly are ya doin'?"

Jazz had walked into the detective's apartment, subspace filled with Energon cubes—mainly for him, since Prowl rarely refueled. The scene he had walked in on was rather bizarre—the detective was stretched out on his side, wings splayed wide behind him to assist in maintaining his balance as a large dagger bordering on a sword wavered on the mech's nasal ridge.

Prowl didn't even so much as flinch, bright golden optics fixed on the ceiling as the blade remained still. "What does it look like, Polyhexian?" The manifolds on the larger mech's lower chassis spiraled open, releasing heated air in a rush so thick it had the Polyhexian wavering on his pedes uncomfortably. "Focusing on one ability hones the ability of the processor to fix on one given task by a significant percentage increase." Wings twitching, the mech shifted on the lounging berth. "Also, my reflexes—when put under extensive scrutiny—have been slowing. Should this knife fall and attempt to impale me, I will be able to calculate how much of a risk I would be should a living mech or femme attempt to decapitate me."

Jazz vented heavily and rolled his optics, heading into the kitchen and unpacking the Energon cubes from his subspace. "Well, should there happen to be an accident, Ah ain't cleanin' up after ya."

There was a huff of a vent, and then the detective's rumbling voice echoed towards the former saboteur. "I would not expect for you to."

Visor brightening, Jazz scoffed and headed into the kitchen doorway. "Wait, does tha' mean what Ah think it does? Are ya insultin' my obviously uncanny cleanliness?"

"You are clearly attempting to insult yourself. You should stop while you are ahead." Prowl's voice sounded unusually close, and Jazz turned at the last moment to see the mech looming over him. The blade was in his servos, and the mech was tracing his talons over the metal in a strangely lovingly way. 

"Wha' in tha Pits—don't do tha', mech!" Jazz staggered back from the other, spark pulsing wildly as he fought the impulse to unsheathe his daggers. "Ah coulda done somethin' to ya!"

Prowl tilted his helm as if in confusion, the knife now being turned over and over in his servos. "You would not be able to do anything to me. Analyses made show that should you attempt to overpower me, my higher weight and percentage of agility and overall skill would overpower you until you decided to cease all attacks."

Jazz growled, narrowing his optics. "Ya know wha'? Ya need ta learn ta shut up sometimes."

The taller mech remained unperturbed, straightening and looking over at the cubes of Energon spread out on the counter, the faint blue glow of the liquidized energy sharp and contrasting against the rich black metal of the counter. "You said something illogical, and it was only necessary of me to counter it with a logical statement."

"Exactly. Tha' means tha' whenever you get the urge, don't talk." Jazz noticed the way the mech's gaze had glazed over, and he tilted his helm. "Wha'?"

With a strange light burning in his optics, the mech set the knife down and advanced on his partner with a sudden feral nature. His wings were flared out wide and made him seem larger than normal. When he spoke, his voice was a deep and hoarse whisper—full of unseen and unheard emotions that forced the Polyhexian to a standstill. "Jazz. I need you to do something for me." The smaller mech made to speak, but he was stopped by a clawed servo wrapping around his throat. A dark look was in the Praxian's optics, and he shook his helm minutely but hard enough to make the doubt of his sanity return. "No, no, let me finish—and whatever I say, you are not allowed to ask questions. Understood?"

Jazz nodded, his discomfort rising as he tried and failed to shift beneath the weight of the detective. 

Prowl watched him intently for another long, heavy moment before releasing him abruptly and bracing himself against the counter, wings splayed above him and turned in the Polyhexian's direction to maintain a better sense of him. "You will go to the address I am sending you currently via communications link exactly three point six nine hours from now. There will be a mech at the door—you will approach him and make optic contact only if he has a scar on his left wing near the connecting joints. Tell him that your reason for being there is on behalf of Spectre. He will allow you entry and you will head down the hall and turn into the fifth door to right."

Golden optics burned a path into Jazz's spark, once again sending that chill of unease through him. "There will be a vault inside, silver with crimson trimming and a scratch on the lower left corner. "The access code is Alpha-Council-zero-zero-seven-five-Beta-three. Subspace the package you find and bring it back to me."

"Are ya tellin' meh ta rob someone?" Jazz growled, armor flaring and electromagnetic field pulsing. "Why would Ah do tha'?"

"Do not take me for a fool, Polyhexian." Prowl was glaring now, icy optics dangerously bright. "You used to be a saboteur, did you not? And did you not hear me? The vault belongs to Spectre."

* * *

Jazz moved down the street, the package Prowl had wanted him to get in his subspace. He had no idea what it was, but he knew by the Praxian's urgency that it had something to do with the case Chrome and Xerxion had presented.

"Jazz!"

He turned, audio horns focusing in on the bright, musical voice. A small femme, one pushing mini-bot, was rushing towards him.

"What—? Windstar?" Jazz grunted as she tackled him, laughing as she wrapped her servos around him. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"I live here, idiot!" She grinned up at him, bright orange optics twinkling in excitement.

Jazz tilted his helm, taken aback. "Wha'? Since when?"

"Since you never contacted me after the Battle of Darkmount." Windstar crossed her servos, determination flashing over her faceplate before she grinned widely. "What are you doing here?"

"Pickin' up somethin' for a friend of mine." He shifted from pede to pede, venting heavily. "Ah work with the police department of Iacon with mah friend. He's a little…mixed up sometimes, but otherwise it's fine. Ah'm gettin' used ta it."

"Who's the friend?" The little femme smirked deviously, elbowing the larger in the side with strength that was not visible in her frame. "Are you in a relationship? Are you bonded?"

Jazz stared down at the little femme in shock. "Meh, in a relationship? What would give ya tha' idea?"

"I don't know. You've always been so lonely and detached, I just thought…" She trailed off as his visor blazed white, and there was an awkward silence before she spoke again. "So…would you like to come over to my place? We need to catch up on things."

He shook his helm, engine whining as he pressed his mouthplates together. "Eh…" He didn't meet her gaze.

"Oh." Windstar's gaze lowered and her grin faltered before disappearing. "You're too busy, I can see."

"No, no, it's not tha'. It's just…my friend is a sociopath. Hates meetin' new people. But," he added at her oncoming look of disappointment, "Ah'll see what Ah can do. Come on."

* * *

Windstar gaped as they entered the detective's residence. "This is where you live? It's enormous!"

"Don' say tha' aloud. Roomate hates it." Jazz searched the room, sensors widening in his survey of the area. "Prowl!"

"I am here, no reason to shout." The tall, silent Praxian appeared, the dim lighting reflecting off of and illuminating his deep obsidian armor. He froze at the sight of Windstar, his wings twitching restlessly as his optics narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Prowl, this is Windstar. I used to be on a stealth team with her organized by Ultra Magnus."

Jazz could have sworn that he heard the mech snarl at him as his gaze stayed steady on the little femme. "Why is she here?"

"She wanted ta meet ya. Ah told her Ah worked with ya." The Polyhexian could sense the darkening aura surrounding the mech, and he forced the urge to push Windstar behind him.

The Praxian approached them silently, his cold, emotionless optics glowing in the dim light. "What would be the point of this? There is nothing to see here."

Jazz stepped forward, more into the path between the Praxian and Windstar. "Prowl, she lives near Chrome and Xerxion's place. Maybe she knows something about the murders."

"What?" Windstar froze, her optics wide as they darted in between the two mechs "What murders?"

"So you _are_ aware of the crimes." Prowl was even closer now, his optics narrow.

"No, I'm not. What are you talking about?" She looked genuinely terrified and began to back away as the detective stalked towards her.

"Prowl, enough," Jazz warned, moving to stand protectively in front of the minuscule femme. "She doesn't know nothin'."

"Anything," Prowl hissed. "She does not know anything." He fixed his cold stare on the femme.

Jazz considered this for a moment, but still stayed in front of Windstar. "Okay, fine. What if she did know somethin' 'bout the murders? There's no reason to go scarin' her 'bout it."

"Fear is a result of agitation and the inability to answer a question properly," the Praxian stated, his voice low and practically a growl as his wings momentarily displayed his anger. Jazz noticed the detective's clawed hands glint in the light. Was it just him, or did his optics flash red whenever the light caught them?

"Jazz." Windstar's shaky voice brought him back to the present. "He's scaring me."

"Ah know tha'," he muttered, facing Prowl once again. "Detective, let's try ta find better ways ta get info on the attacks. Ways tha' don' involve threatenin'."

_You and your inconsequential emotions._ The Praxian's voice sounded in his processor, the remnants of a vicious growl rumbling deeply.

_Hey, don' go dissin' on mah emotions just 'cause ya don' have any._

_Everyone has emotions. Surely you would know that._

_By the way ya act, ya sure make others think ya don'._

The detective vented aloud, facing the frightened femme. "Forgive my actions. I am never aware of the way they affect surrounding individuals." His doorwings twitched. "I came off rather…harsh. Would it be acceptable if you could talk about the attacks?"

"What makes you think I know anything about them?" she demanded.

Prowl's doorwings flared. "Did you not hear my explanation? You were clearly intimidated by one of the crime lord's, if not himself, workers, forced into keeping whatever dark secrets he possesses pertaining to the felonies."

"Alright, cool it," Jazz stated as Windstar began to back away again. He looked down at her. "Windstar, ya now know tha' since ya know 'bout the murders, we have to question ya, alright?"

She looked so frightened that it nearly made Jazz want to take back what he said. But, work was work, and Whiplash would have him melted to scrap metal if he turned down such an opportunity.

"Okay," she said eventually. "I'll talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene where Jazz retrieves the package will be a flashback in the next chapter. I wanted to get the introduction of Windstar out of the way.


End file.
